the way, Mr. Seavers, everything I’ve just told you applies to Dr. Calloway, as well.”
“She doesn’t know—” He broke off his automatic denial. Damn! They’d been watching for her, too. The Wallaces must have known she was due back for one of her medical clinics. Whether they believed she knew anything was a moot point. She was here, and she’d been at La Casa. As far as the Wallaces were concerned, that meant she was involved. He could try putting her on an airplane back to Georgia or a cruise ship to nowhere, but she wouldn’t be safe. As long as the Wallaces thought their business was in danger, so was Cate. He was stuck with her.
“Dr. Calloway doesn’t have a clue about anything that happens outside her emergency room. Healthy, uninjured people don’t interest her.”
“Then if you both follow my instructions, her stay on the island should be quite uneventful. Now, do you know where the records are?”
Justin hesitated. If he lied and said no, the bastard wouldn’t believe him. If he lied and said he had them, they’d want to set up an exchange, and he doubted seriously that the Wallaces intended to let any of them walk away from this. The fact that the man wasn’t worried about any copies of the documents they might have made indicated that.
So he told a close version of the truth. “Not exactly. I’ve got some ideas.”
“I suggest you start looking. I’ll be in touch again soon. Oh, and Mr. Seavers—when you have the documents, don’t bother making any copies. Keep your phone charged and nearby.”
As the call ended, Justin stared across the street, where a cruise ship was making its way slowly to port. The Wallaces wanted the files back but weren’t worried about copies. Why?
True, the files were encrypted, but Garcia, one of his buddies in Mississippi, was working on that. She’d hacked into far better programs than any the Wallaces’ tech guy could even conceive of.
So they wanted the information badly enough to kidnap Trent and Susanna—and to threaten Justin and Cate—but they didn’t care about copies because the information was fluid. Names and locations could be changed. Move the people around and set their own hackers to erasing their existence…
Footsteps alerted him to Cate’s movement in time to keep her voice from startling him. “Was that about Trent and Susanna?”
He gave her an irritated look. “Geez, you lock in on one subject and beat it till it’s dead. No wonder Trent got so bored with you.”
Her jaw tightened and hurt flashed through her eyes the instant before she pivoted to return to the table. Aw, damn. He hadn’t meant—
He should apologize, but the Justin she knew didn’t offer apologies easily—at least, not sincere ones. That didn’t stop him from following her. She was rummaging in her purse for her cell phone when he reached the table. He tugged it from her grasp and slid it into his pocket with one hand as he picked up the bill with the other.
Stonily she stared at him. “Give me my phone. I’m going to call Trent’s parents.”
He did a quick conversion from pesos into dollars, then tossed down enough cash to cover the next three meals. “If Trent wanted Mom and Dad to know where he is, he would’ve told them.”
Her gaze narrowed, making him feel like something small and slimy that she was about to dissect. She didn’t argue, but turned toward the bar, no doubt to ask where she could find a phone.
He caught her arm and swung her back, half coaxing, half dragging her to the steps that led to the street. “You’re tired. It’s been a long day. Commercial flights are hell, aren’t they? Let’s go someplace quiet, and we can talk.”
“Talk?” Her response reminded him of a parrot his frat brothers had inherited from a graduating senior. Whenever it was upset, it squawked like that. “I’ve been trying to talk since that awful moment at the house.”
He grinned. “You mean when they shot at us?”
“I mean when I saw you standing in the doorway.”
He flagged down a cab and ushered her into the backseat the instant the vehicle came to a stop. After giving the cabbie the address, he tried to casually glance around to see if anyone might have noticed them. He’d guessed not, but then, he hadn’t exactly had experience with being followed.
As they pulled away from the curb, Cate straightened. “What about your motorcycle?”
“At the moment, I’d rather be in a car than on my bike.”
“What about my suitcase?”
“We’ll get it later. Don’t worry. Mario will take care of it.”
“But—my stethoscope—”
He rolled his eyes. “If anything happens to your precious stethoscope, I’ll replace it. Scout’s honor.”
He wouldn’t have thought it possible for her face to get any scrunchier, but she managed. “You were never a Scout, and you have no honor. If anything happens to my stethoscope, I will hunt you down and kill you.”
Grinning was the last thing he wanted to do after that low blow, but he managed the brashest, most arrogant one ever. “Gotta get away from me before you can track me down.” And that wasn’t happening anytime soon, thanks to the Wallace brothers.
Bastards.
Despite her anxiety, Cate couldn’t help but appreciate the scenery they passed: beautiful buildings, though set amidst some tackier ones, lush greenery and the water— that incredible-shades-of-blue water. Under better circumstances, and with better company, she would have her nose pressed to the window. More likely, she would instruct the cabdriver to pull over, pay the fare and head straight to the water’s edge.
She glanced at Justin peripherally and gave a mental shudder. Better company. Oh, yeah, right.
The driver slowed and turned into a narrow driveway. Twenty feet in, he stopped at an elaborate wrought-iron gate, and Justin handed him a card to swipe.
The drive led into a very private haven dotted with palm trees and other vegetation whose names she couldn’t guess. Bright waves of color competed against the too-pretty-to-be-real green of the grass, and the plantings hid any sign of neighboring houses.
The house that was the center of such beauty was a surprise. She’d never given any thought to what type of home suited Justin, other than the antebellum plantation that had been in his family for centuries, but this bare-concrete, industrial-type building that reminded her of Cold War scenes in Russia never would have made the list. It was so stark, so…ugly.
The cab stopped in front of a large black door, and Justin paid the driver before sliding out. “Come on,” he said when she didn’t move. “Welcome to La Casa Seavers.”
Was he kidding? When he visited paradise, he lived in a squat, concrete bunker?
The moment the door closed behind her, the cabdriver accelerated away. She watched until he was out of sight, then turned back as Justin opened the front door.
Foolishness washed over her. Appearances were deceiving; hadn’t she learned that along
